


The Marketplace

by DenimPrincess23



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ancient Rome, Gen, Period Typical Attitudes, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenimPrincess23/pseuds/DenimPrincess23
Summary: Thank you for checking out this work! A quick note: I am not fluent is Gaelic and any translations came from a translation service. If there are grammatical or vocabulary inaccuracies, please point them out so I can fix them! Thank you again, and enjoy!
Kudos: 2





	The Marketplace

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for checking out this work! A quick note: I am not fluent is Gaelic and any translations came from a translation service. If there are grammatical or vocabulary inaccuracies, please point them out so I can fix them! Thank you again, and enjoy!

The Drusus siblings had been wandering through the stalls of the marketplace for the better part of the afternoon. It was a rare thing when they were able to be together, and they always took as much advantage as they could of the time they had. The two eldest brothers, Ricardus and Artorius, were home on leave from their tours of duty with the legion. The years of military service had changed them, grown them into men, but they had not been made callous by them. Instead, it had enhanced the traits that mattered most: courage, honor, honesty, self-sacrifice. They were the kind of men their father was proud of and their younger brother wanted to be.

The brothers had taken a few steps past the stall where their sister, the Lady Lydia, had stopped when a situation suddenly unfolded before them in the street. Artorius was mid-conversation with his younger brother Adrianus about proper sparing form when he collided with someone who ran straight into him. He had enough presence of mind to grasp the person – young woman – by the arms before she fell, but she misunderstood his intention. Immediately, she began to struggle against his grip and shout in a northern tongue, “Leig ás mi, rómanach! Leig ás mi!” _Let go of me, roman! Let go of me!_

Stunned by her reaction, Artorius released her arms. It was only then that he heard the shouts from up the street, a man yelling, “find her! Find the slave girl!” Artorius looked down at the woman in front of him and saw her for the first time. Her matted hair hung over her face and past her shoulders. Her tunic was filthy, the original color faded beyond recognition. Her wrists were scarred and bloodied from manacles. Finally, he saw her eyes, blue as the sky, filled with a panic he had witnessed only on the battlefield.

In that second, she realized she was trapped between her pursuers and the man in front of her. She looked toward the shouting and seemed to decide, for she turned back to Artorius and fell at his feet with her hands clasped above her head. In that same minute, three soldiers and a merchant burst through the throng, the merchant red-faced, sweating and swearing. The posse pulled up short when they saw what was taking place before them: the escaped slave groveling at the feet of a centurion who had a rather shocked look on his face.

The soldiers pulled themselves to attention and saluted the centurion, and then stood even straighter when they realized who was with him. The ranking legionnaire found his voice first. “Ave Primi Drusus, Centurion Drusus! Apologies for this disruption. It will be dealt with immediately. You two, restrain the slave.” As the woman was dragged to her feet, she sought Artorius’ face and, finding it, pleaded, “dèan tròcair orm!” _Have mercy!_ Her plea was rewarded with a sharp cuff to the back of her head. “Be silent, slave! How dare you look a master in the face!”

Not fully realizing what he was doing, Artorius took a step toward them and gave a resounding, “Hold!” The soldiers froze, looking questioningly at their commander, in rank if not by position. His next words shocked everyone who heard them. “Merchant, I will be buying this one, but at a price of my choosing as recompense for being assaulted. Take this purse of 50 denarii and return to the rest of your wares, before they, too, run away.” He threw his purse at the gaping man, who barely managed to catch it without spilling it, before turning back to the soldiers. “Release her and return to your duty. Dismissed!”

They may have been confused, but they did not show it as they saluted smartly and returned in the direction that they had come. The begrudging merchant also took his leave, but not without shooting a very dirty look at the shaking figure left standing in the street. It was only when everyone around them had hurried on their way that Artorius remembered that he was not alone. He turned to his brothers but was not sure what to say. He was not usually an assertive man, unless he had to be, and now found himself lost for words. His older brother seemed to know his brother’s mind and took charge. Ricardus always knew what to do.

“Bring the girl. We will fetch Lydia and go home. We will decide what to do when we are away from this madness.”

“Of course, brother. You two go, get Lydia. We will follow”, Artorius said, before turning his attention back to the young woman, who had not moved. That alone was surprising enough, considering she had been running when they had met. He had no wish to be rough with her, but he also knew they had to get home and he did not have the time to explain. Part of him knew that he did not owe the slave any explanation, but these circumstances had been too strange. He made up his mind and stepped toward the woman, holding out his hand like one does to calm a skittish horse. He tried to keep his voice commanding but not harsh.

“Thig còmhla rium. Mìnichidh mi nuair a ruigeas sinn an taigh.” _Come with me. I will explain when we get home._

She was shocked. She blurted without thinking, “Faodaidh tu Gàidhlig a bhruidhinn?” _You can speak Gaelic?_ She never expected to hear her language come out of a Roman’s mouth, let alone with such fluency. It hit her then; he had released her when she had demanded it and intervene at her plea. He did not strike her for speaking out, but gave her a look and replied, “Gu follaiseach. Dè an t-ainm a th 'ort?” _Obviously. What is your name?_

“Is mise Eilidh, mo thighearn.” _I am_ _Eilidh, my lord._

“Eilidh. A bheil thu a ’bruidhinn Laideann?” _Eilidh. Do you speak Latin?_

Speak? Not really. Understand? Kneel. Stand. Turn. Silence. Enough to survive. “Baegan. Gu leòr airson a bhith beò, mo thighearn _.” A little bit. Enough to survive, my lord._

“Can you understand what I am saying,” Artorius asked, trying to speak slowing but not condescendingly.

“I can, my lord,” came the quiet, accented reply.

“Good. Then we need to go, now.”

All she could do was nod and follow his lead as he grasped her arm and followed the men whom he had been speaking with. She thought she had heard his say ‘brother’ but could not be sure her translation was correct. All she knew was that he had saved her when he could have just as easily walked away. He had also said he would explain, which no Roman had ever offered, except to explain something awful they were about to do.

It had not been a long conversation, but long enough for them to have lost the others in the crowd. Artorius usually wouldn’t have thought anything of it, preferring to walk alone most of the time. On this occasion, however, his mind was very much preoccupied with the matter of the person whom he now owned. What had possessed him to do something so rash? She had, if he were being honest with himself. He knew slaves ran, it was a fact of life with so large a slave population, but he had never had one literally land in his lap. The punishment for running was often harsh, to dissuade others from attempting it, and a part of him knew that would be her fate. If not today, then surely soon, for she had the spirit to keep trying. He could have walked away and not looked back, but he knew he would have always wondered what had happened to her. It was as if the universe were telling him to save this one.

He’d been surrounded by slaves all his life, and he had always striven to treat each well and fairly. He had never even thought to own any of his own, not wishing to deal with all the moral issues that might arise. He also had no real need for a personal slave, as he was very well cared for in his father’s house, and looked out for himself while he was on tours of duty. He supposed he might have a need when he settled down and had a home of his own, but that was at least 2 years away. He couldn’t drag this woman from camp to camp for that long. It wouldn’t be safe for her, even with his rank and name as protection.

His next thought was of his sister, who was also very independent and cared little about being waited on hand and foot. Perhaps she would accept the strange woman? She had spirit which might intrigue Lydia, as she had always hated slaves that were too meek. Those of their father’s household who served the lady knew better than to grovel; they served efficiently and with the least amount of doting possible. She hated being doted upon.

Whatever decision he made, he needed to make it soon. As indulgent as his parents could be, he doubted they would suffer a purposeless slave for long. He was drawn from his thoughts by a gentle tug on his arm and an insistent tone, “my lord? My lord, you are called!” He realized with some amusement that he had heard and translated the slave’s Gaelic in his head. Maybe he wasn’t as rusty as he had thought.

He turned his attention to her to see what she was talking about. It was then that he heard another voice calling him. “Artorius! Where is your head at, man? I’ve been calling you since you walked past the gate.” It was Ricardus, coming from the direction they had just been. He could have kicked himself, then. In his wandering thoughts, he had walked right past the gate of the villa.

“Forgive me, brother. I was lost in thought.” Letting go of Eilidh's arm, he spoke to her firmly but quietly, “Follow my brother, I will walk behind you.” She nodded her understanding and turned toward the older man, a little apprehensive. “Lead on, brother, she will follow,” came the voice behind her, somehow comforting her nerves. How had a Roman voice become a comfort in so short a time? How could she be finding comfort in a Roman at all? He was different, that was the only explanation she could offer herself.

They were entering the gate now, and passing the elderly gatekeeper who bowed low to the two masters. Once inside, Ricardus called for Hannah, the head of the female slaves. While they waited, Artorius spoke to Eilidh again. “When Hannah arrives, you will go with her to be washed and clothed. Obey her, as she carries my mother’s authority among the female slaves. I will send for you later. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord, “she answered with a small bow. Artorius was again struck by the dramatic change from the wild-haired Briton to the obedient slave. He didn’t have time to ponder it, as Hannah had arrived. She bowed to the young masters before addressing Ricardus, “How may I be of service, Dominus? “

“I summoned you, but it is Lord Artorius who requires your service. I take my leave.” With that, Ricardus left the small gathering, and Hannah turned her attention to the remaining pair.

“Hannah, this is Eilidh, my new slave. She is to be taken to the baths and cleaned and dressed properly. She speaks limited Latin but understands if you speak slowly. I communicate with her in Gaelic and have already given her instructions to obey your word. Find a place for her in the women’s room, and I shall call for her later.”

“Your will, Dominus. Come”, with her hand outstretched, she indicated the girl should follow her. Eilidh obeyed, suppressing an urge to look back at the Roman…no, her master. She had to start calling him that in her head, or she would get in trouble if it slipped out.


End file.
